Tears from Altea
by El Nino1
Summary: More dangerous than evil that presents itself as evil is a fighter who wears honor like a mask but carries deceit in his heart. Such tricks a once betrayed prince has learned to use. Repost, previously a part of Cruel Melee
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is a repost. It was formerly the last two chapters from my fic _Cruel Melee,_which I dug up out of the pit and reread a couple days ago. I realized I could not remember the plot. It eventually started to come back to me (sort of-the plot was overly complicated), but I still can't figure out how the hell the last two chapters connect to the rest of it. So I deleted them and decided to repost them as a short stand-alone piece. So here it is. Features Ganondorf, Link, Roy and Marth. They fight. For the billionth time. Critique/comments appreciated.

Disclaimer: The following contains characters and concepts that are NOT the property of the author. They are the intellectual property of Nintendo, HAL Laboratories, and their associates. The author has made NO monetary benefit from this piece of shit.

* * *

_Tears from Altea_

The arena came in and out of focus, bright lights glaring from darkness, delivering split images to his tired eyes. He was falling, and some quiet part of him resigned to the inevitable: this would be his end. But another part of him refused to believe. Instead, he forced his legs into motion, no longer feeling the pain. And though his sword carried a heavier weight than before, he would not admit to himself that his arms were weakening. He also chose to ignore the realization that the blood pooling at his feet was his own, just as he avoided the thought that Marth had betrayed him.

One of his opponents charged at him, long heavy sword cutting a mid level, horizontal arc. Blood dotted the boy's face and armor, streaking crimson, as intense a shade as his hair, onto his green cape. Ganondorf instinctively threw his shield. The strike was deflected, and Roy's blade clashed ineffectively against a red barrier. Ganondorf dropped the shield to rush forward. His uppercut slammed into Roy's chest, cracking bones as it burned a path skyward. His opponent's head snapped backward, and the smaller fighter flew several meters away before landing roughly on the floor.

Suddenly, the blur of Link's arrow appeared from the corner of his eye, speeding at him with unstoppable power. Ganondorf spun, pulling off a narrow dodge, as the projectile breezed past the back of his neck. Link started to draw another arrow, but Ganondorf had stepped off the line of trajectory. His heavy legs carried him, rushing into a sliding kick. The collision swept Link's feet out from under him and brought him toppling to the floor.

Ganondorf stumbled, the impact dizzying him. He moved in for the follow up, but moved too slowly. Steel of a sword whispered at his ear. As he turned, he felt the blade break through his skin. It sliced the back of his neck, then drew a curve along his ribcage, nearly from spine to sternum. Only the tip cut him-almost elegant. And the swordsman-a boy with dark blue eyes, in black clothes and a cape the color of blood-wore a mark of broken loyalty in his hair.

Stepping off line, Ganondorf backpedaled, struggling to put distance between them. All too quickly, he realized the numbness in his heels, the deep throbbing pain in his knees, and the loss of feeling in his arms. A cold sensation burned from his cuts. He clutched his side with one hand; then looked down to stare at the blood coating his glove. Marth was making him weak. Worse than that, he made him _feel._

Raising his head, Ganondorf felt Marth's sword pierce his shoulder, sinking deep through armor. He clenched his teeth against the dull, heavy pain. Only a feeling like ice remained when the blade withdrew. Ganondorf struck out, sweep kicking his opponent's legs. Marth fell, rolled, and recovered. The blade flashed out again, but Ganondorf was ready. He sidestepped. His own heavy sword came up, an impossible weight against his weary arms. He parried at close distance, cutting his blade into Marth's sword hand. With a startled cry from its master, his opponent's weapon cluttered to the floor.

Ganondorf went for the grab. Even after taking so much damage, he could still lift the smaller fighter off the floor. Hands in fingerless black gloves struggled against his grip, smearing their blood together.

"Don't mock me," Ganondorf hissed, a mixture of anger and disgust in his voice. Radiance appeared around his hand, growing into a sphere of crackling electric energy, intense and blinding. "If you want to kill me, then kill me!" In a surge of heat, the ball of light exploded between them, rocketing both bodies away from each other.

Marth didn't hit the floor until he almost reached the end of the arena's platform. Slamming into the floor, he slid and lay crumpled on his back, unmoving.

The ground streamlined below Ganondorf's feet before it reached up and tripped his legs out from under him. He fell, skidding to a stop on one knee. Gasping, chest heaving, he tried to catch his breath, one hand reaching to the floor to steady himself. In that second of distraction, a fierce battle cry shook the arena, and Ganondorf looked up to see Roy coming in, sword swinging, a berserker's rage in his eyes. He raised one arm to block, attempting to throw his shield, but he was a moment too late. Roy brought down the blade and slashed deeply into Ganondorf's arm. The tip also cut his neck, releasing a spray of dark blood.

Strength failing, Ganondorf managed to lunge forward. With his good arm, he threw a solid punch that knocked Roy off his feet, head spun to the side. But Ganondorf couldn't keep his balance, and his own lumbering weight caused him to stumble. At this time, another one of Link's arrows found its way into his lower back. He choked on a cry, voice strangled, shock in his eyes. Fighting to stay upright, he turned to find Link staring him down from across the arena, no fear in his face, only strong determination and a steady understanding that Ganondorf, not he, would be the one to fall here.

Roy recovered, struggling to his feet. His hands found the grip on his sword, and he charged Ganondorf again, driving the blade into his opponent's side, below the ribcage. It made the dull, wet sound of metal sinking through live flesh. Ganondorf, impaled on the Sword of Seals, choked and gasped again, unable to move. Across the arena, Link drew another arrow, held the bowstring taunt, and then released it. The sharpened point honed in and embedded itself into the flesh of Ganondorf's thigh.

He fell to his knees. The wound tore, but he couldn't feel it. Nor could he feel Roy's blade drawing out of his body. The arena lights blinded him again; the crowd, roaring louder than the ocean, filled his ears. Roy brought the sword down on him once more, splitting a gash across his chest with metal that burned. Link came running, his weapon drawn. Single-handedly, he thrust it into Ganondorf's upper back, through flesh, through bone. The cracking of his ribs was the only thing the dark wizard could hear in that moment. He coughed, spitting blood, reaching with one hand for the ground. Wetness met his fingers, and he could only stare in amazement at a pool of his own blood, spreading dark and viscous on the arena floor.

A third form appeared next to him. Slowly, he turned his head to meet Marth, who held his divine blade with one hand, prepared to attack. But his eyes belied his stance. For a brief moment, he faltered, unable to move. Only a moment though. Then Ganondorf watched as the blade came at him, hitting low but arcing upward, slicing into his stomach muscles and collarbone in a single swing.

They fell upon him with their swords, the sound of tearing flesh accented by bones crunching, ligaments and tendons popping, wrenched apart. He could do nothing as three blades cut and stabbed into him, only watch the lights seem to flicker, watch the world tilt above him until the back of his head hit the floor. Blinking the blood out of his eyes, Ganondorf saw Link standing over him. His opponent's face, like stone, was grim. The sword was raised above him, inverted, its tip aimed at his throat.

They would let Link have the final blow. As it should be, Ganondorf decided.

He chose to meet death with open eyes.

* * *

Pale light slipped down, filtered through his fingers, before falling on his eyes. He had never had the courage to look straight into the false sun, even though he knew it was not real.

The wind cutting across the temple roof was no more real. But it felt as real, as real as fingers tugging on his cape, running through his hair.

He took his eyes from the delicate blue sky to cast a look around the stage. The place seemed to harbor secrets, despite its existence as a mirage. Sophisticated programming made the light glint off the Falchion's hilt and made his shadow move like a dark puppet on the ground. Even the stones were not exactly identical.

A sudden noise made him freeze, and then a taller, darker shadow engulfed his own.

He turned, the movement subtle, reaching for his weapon with one hand.

Ganondorf returned his stare, standing motionless; only his cape fluttered in the wind. His eyes locked on Marth's for a moment; then traced a line to the hand at the sword's hilt. Though his mouth never smiled, something in his eyes did.

Even if it contained little joy.

"Good day, your highness," he greeted with an insolent bow.

Marth returned the acknowledgement with a wary, skeptical expression. "How did you do that?" he asked.

Ganondorf feigned surprise. "Do what, my prince?"

"The stage was unoccupied when I entered. A siren should have notified me of your arrival."

In response, Ganondorf only gave a secretive smirk. "Ah, yes. It should have. Must be a program error."

"I doubt that," Marth answered.

Hollow laughter tumbled from Ganondorf's throat. He looked over the young fighter with slight interest. A creeping leer played on his face. "I hope you don't believe," he ventured to say, "that the designers of the world are infallible."

"That is not what I meant," Marth said.

"No," Ganondorf agreed after a pause. "That is not what you meant. However, my question still stands."

Marth looked at him with consideration. "Nothing of human design is perfect. But as for the universe itself...I have no answer for you."

"Oh?" Ganondorf pressed mockingly. "You believe in fate, don't you? All the great princes did."

An intent gaze came back at him.

"And you?" Marth asked. "If I am not mistaken, you were considered a prince among your own people. Do you believe in fate?"

Instead of answering, Ganondorf strode past him, as if ignoring the question. He paused in the space between two pillars and stared out over the high ledge. If not for the cape on his back, stirred by the wind, he could have been a statue. After a long time, he finally spoke, his voice wavering between cynicism and something indiscernible.

"My people..." he began. "In their lives, they knew no guarantees. Generations before mine, they had been driven from the greener plains and into the harshest of environments. There, they carved out a fragile existence in the desert. Our lives were brief, marked with nothing but hardship. Every season carried in storms riding on the winds. Each one nearly brought our tribe to the brink of extinction. And as a reward for our perseverance, the gods cursed us by killing every male child before it was born. My delivery into the world was, itself, an act committed against divine will.

"You would not understand. Fate may exist. I may concede to its being, but I will never believe in it. I have no faith in it. I became what I am through my efforts alone. I only believe in my will."

He spoke with his back to his audience. The wind persisted. Tilting his head up, Ganondorf searched the sky and stared straight into the false sun, trying to remember the lost melodies of his youth. Behind him, the Altean prince said nothing.

Finally, he turned and found Marth watching him.

Neither moved for a shared moment. Then Ganondorf watched as Marth took a step back, grasped his sword, and slowly drew it. "Fight me," the young fighter challenged, his voice a whisper.

Ganondorf raised an eyebrow.

"If I win," Marth continued, "you will tell me how you were able to manipulate the program and silence the alarm. If you win, I will owe you something in return."

Strangely, Ganondorf shook his head. "And ruin this serenity?" he admonished sarcastically. "I will not have it."

Marth tilted his head quizzically. "It was designed for this purpose."

Ganondorf chuckled. "Yes. As were we, it would appear."

"If that is true, you have no reason to refuse."

A sneer curved his lips. "Well then, if only to save myself from dishonor..."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Repost. Second chapter. And that should be it. Though I did recently rediscover the incomplete _Cruel Melee_ eighth chapter, which would be the third part to this. Maybe I'll get around to finishing it one of these days. Eh, it's only been three years. If I do, I'll update this. Otherwise, this piece is finished for now. Also, it could be noted that some things seem to be constants in my fanfic. One, the fight scenes are too violent for Smash Bros. So just ignore the fact that no one is supposed to die in Smash Bros. And also, one more thing...well, nevermind. You'll either notice or not care. Enjoy. Or not. Comments appreciated.

Disclaimer: The following contains characters and concepts that are NOT the property of the author. They are the intellectual property of Nintendo, HAL Laboratories, and their associates. The author has made NO monetary benefit from this piece of shit.

* * *

_Tears from Altea_

He watched as the sword was lifted high above him, ready for the last strike that would put an end to their age long war, a story that had been drawn out farther than necessary. Eyes open, he watched it end.

Only it didn't.

Instead, a shadow suddenly fell over him, springing up a red shield between his body and Link's sword. The strike did not connect, and Ganondorf only saw Link's look of surprise. The crowd fell silent.

"Marth?" Roy managed to voice. "What...?"

Slowly, Marth lowered his shield. From his knees, he stared at his two comrades, saying nothing at first.

"He's finished," Marth whispered finally. "There's no need."

Ah, leave it to the noble prince to prolong his suffering, Ganondorf thought bitterly._ Are you squeamish, dear heart? Five seconds ago you were with them, putting these goddamn holes in me..._

Link looked from his friend to his enemy, back and forth, hand still gripping the hilt of his sword. He closed his eyes and sighed. His hand shook.

"Marth..." Roy started.

But a deep, gurgling laugh interrupted him. Sputtering, Ganondorf coughed and choked on his blood, yet the eyes that met Link's were fierce and unwavering. His bloodied lips curved in a vicious smile.

"Be wary, hero," he hissed through clenched teeth stained red. "Betrayal can be...a boy with honest eyes...who wears honor for a mask...and has..." He struggled to breathe. "A mouth that lies." His eyes glimmered pain. Fighting to continue, he did not see the regret on Marth's face.

"My heart...has deceived me."

* * *

Ganondorf watched impassively as his opponent tried to stand. Marth stumbled against the wall, his grip still tight on the sword, his breathing labored. He clutched at the tears in his uniform and the bruised skin underneath it. With difficulty, he tried to stand his ground. But Ganondorf had already backed off, a casual look of dismissal on his face.

"Wait," the prince choked out between heavy breaths.

Ganondorf shook his head, appearing mildly disappointed. "This fight is over." Then, with a snide smile, "You do not have to prove yourself to me, prince. That little demonstration was indicative enough of your abilities." The wizard swiped distractedly at his cut lip with the back of his hand.

"You are not the first to fail to bring me down, and you will not be the last."

Silence passed between them. Ganondorf turned his back to the other, discarding further interest. His steps took him to the edge of the stone platform.

Marth waited long enough to catch his breath. Then, staggering slightly, he pushed himself off the wall and joined the other fighter. With one hand, he braced himself against the nearest pillar, hiding his pain and refusing to show weakness. The other man glanced warily in his direction, but said nothing.

Not for the first time, they stood together over the ruins of a once grand temple. Its crumbling pillars rose out of broken stone and patches of green. The mind could, with a little imagination, repair those cracks in the foundation, those ruined steps, and conjure an image of what it once might have been.

Finally, it was Marth that spoke again.

"Was it worth it?"

Ganondorf felt his body go rigid, teeth clenching. Anger threatened to boil through the surface.

Because he could never answer that question.

"You," he muttered, eyes closed, "are much too inquisitive for your own good."

Years he had spent fighting for Hyrule, striving to attain the unattainable, to own what the gods deemed he was unworthy of owning. Ages before this one was born, he had struggled tirelessly with fate. All this to no avail because his enemies had already chosen their champion in the form of a child of light.

But time would come to prove that even divine-sanctioned kingdoms could not last forever. Even this temple had fallen. Even that sun-drenched land beloved by the gods could not outlast time. Here it stood only as a memory, written into the program of a great machine. Illusion, only. And here he stood, alive and unbroken still...

But what did that mean? Could he really say that he had outlived those who bested him ages ago? Knowing what he knew, could he really believe that his presence here was any more genuine than the illusion of the broken temple before him?

He opened his eyes. No, he had not escaped the effects of time; it had taken its toll on him as well.

But what would the small-minded prince next to him know about such matters?

"The Sages," he said, "thought they could seal me away forever. And ironically, this served to preserve my existence while their treasured kingdom beneath the sun faded away with time."

"All things do," Marth replied. "Those who hold power are well sought out targets. It grants one many enemies." He lowered his eyes thoughtfully. "This makes me wonder what it was that drove you to seek out such power. The responsibility alone outweighs any luxuries."

To this, Ganondorf laughed, with more scorn than humor. Children were quite amusing, though better if seen and not heard. He turned to face the younger fighter.

"Would you, my prince, give up that responsibility in exchange for an unaccountable existence under the tyranny of another?"

In a surprising show of respect, Marth never met Ganondorf's eyes. "No," he admitted.

Satisfied, the dark wizard turned to leave, having had enough of the atmosphere, his solitude obstructed. Today was not a good day to relive the past, though he knew it would come back to confront him eventually. Probably in the arena, probably in the form of a cunning princess and her chosen hero.

The voice of the prince stopped him.

"From what I am told, you were the greatest tyrant in the history of that land."

_Oh, of course._

"And what do you think of it, prince?" he asked.

Marth paused before answering. "I would say," he began carefully, "that history is written by its victors."

Ganondorf tilted his head slightly. _Interesting..._

"And if I were to tell you," he suggested, "that the Hylian rulers were in actuality the most successful and dominating tyrants of that time, what would you say?"

"I would probably call you a liar."

"Ah, yes." The older man grinned. "Yet the princess and her hero-they speak the truth."

His companion offered no response.

All humor left him then. "Go home, boy," Ganondorf said sternly.

A pause, and then Marth smiled. More sad than bitter. "I cannot." He looked down over the temple ruins. "Not any more than you can."

Ganondorf, his face turned toward the sky, cast a sidelong glance at Marth. The wind played with the young fighter's cape, rustled his hair, and Ganondorf remembered the heroic persona celebrated in legend, a face gazing out of a faded portrait, a name penned into the yellowing pages of decaying books. The figure of the legendary prince belonged to yet another story that history had buried. Another kingdom forfeited to oblivion among countless others. Time showed no mercy to the things it lost. So Ganondorf had to wonder if what he saw before him was real.

For a long time, the figure beside him remained still-a painted vision.

Then the prince closed his eyes.

And the Gerudo felt it. As tangible as the false wind and the empty sky. Ganondorf shuttered his own eyes, listening to the whispers that had started to arise within his head. He calmed his thoughts and welcomed in the wind. Invisible tendrils met each other in his mind, weaving, intertwining. He focused his powers, summoned his strength, and slowly, slowly _. . . pulled._

The winds shifted._  
_

Marth's eyes flew open. Inexplicably, the world had changed.

Hyrule Temple had flickered away, like patterns of light disappearing underwater. It became something else entirely. Stone walls grew like vines, arching towards the sky. Light fell from high windows onto the floor and caught the Altean prince, face lifted, staring in awe.

It was unmistakable: the royal carpet spread out in the center of the room, a nation's history played out in tapestries on the walls, and the noble family crest, engraved above the arched doorway.

Across from the entrance rested the seat of power, the king's throne.

Marth knew this room. Knew it because he had lived here once; as a child, had tested his weight against the barred doors; as a youth, had learned to ride horseback in the fields and practiced his sword dance on top of the aging battlements; as a young adult, had fought to return to it. Beyond the exit to the corridor there would be steps, and they led out to a view overlooking plains of green and mountains on the horizon. Outside, the sun was shining, and if he climbed to the highest point, he would be able to see the entire dominion of his heritage, the rivers and forests and royal hunting grounds, where his father once brought down a deer and told him to finish it.

The prince fell to his knees, head bowed.

The anchor of time kept him there, a boneless weight against the floor. Marth could not find the strength to move. Then, as a tall shadow closed in over him, he lifted his head to lock eyes with Ganondorf, a figure standing dark against a backdrop of light. The Gerudo's face was grim as he tepidly held out his hand. Marth stared for a moment; then reached for it with both of his own. Slowly, he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to the back of Ganondorf's fingers.

Around them, the illusion disappeared. In a flicker, the broken temple returned.

Marth was left with nothing, only a memory and the tears it summoned.

_One thing alone,_ Ganondorf realized suddenly.

It took the former prince ages to find words.

"How ... ?"

Ganondorf lowered himself to one knee. He turned around his offered hand, palm grazing over Marth's face. He caught tears, warm and slick. Then, folding his fingers, he captured them within a loose fist, brought his hand to his mouth, and blew his breath onto it.

Marth searched the Gerudo's face with a look of incomprehension. Then, rough fingers grasped his wrist and turned it over, palm up. From Ganondorf's hand, a few small, glittering diamonds tumbled into his own. They rested there, solid gems.

For once devoid of arrogance, the dark wizard offered an answer to Marth's original question.

"Magic," he whispered.

* * *

Link gazed back at him solemnly. Not very tall, this hero, but he had grown since childhood. A young man, now, gold hair tied behind his head, beneath a hat of his team's coloring. His sword dripped blood, and his bow, worn across his back, was useless now that his supply of arrows had been depleted. Many of them rested their heads in Ganondorf's body. Of course it had to end like this. He had no choice but to die at the hands of this one. Destiny knew no other course. It could do nothing else with his failed, meaningless life.

Ganondorf felt fingers prying open his hand. Blinking, he forced his head to turn, to look straight up at Marth, kneeling over him. He felt tiny, nearly weightless fragments trickle into his palm. Marth folded Ganondorf's fingers into a fist and did not let go of his hand.

Now he had to struggle to see. It was difficult with the world fading. He blinked hard, staring through the gathering brightness. It glared and blinded him, but a darkness came from Marth, whose face was still visible.

_Are you watching this, Princess?_ he thought. _Where are you? Silently waiting in the shadows, I think. Are you satisfied? Undoubtedly you were the one who orchestrated this entire charade. Remember when you spoke to me as a young girl in the palace temple? A girl with the mind of a ruler. If your hero had fallen, would you have waited for me at the victory stand, a sharpened knife concealed beneath your veil? I would have expected no less._

Stories only ended well for heroes, he knew. Ironic, how they rushed headfirst into the very fate they sought to escape. Could it be that the act of asserting free will was merely another gear turning destiny's clockwork? What a travesty that would be.

_They used you, Marth._

He wanted to say this to the Altean prince, and would have done so if only his mouth were not filled with blood.

And yet, Marth...

"Are...those...?"

The wizard only managed a whisper.

_"Tears . . . ?"_

Darkness held him, as ages of power and evil coursed through his mind and body one last time.

Then, the light won, and he could not see.


End file.
